These are the Good Years

I've been busy archiving old pictures in the evenings.

New camera. New angles. New clarity.

New discovery!

I made a couple of on-line albums from our recent vacation pictures and was so very pleased with the Shutterfly service when the real thing arrived at my door, that I'm determined to see some of the pictures that have been hiding away on discs or computer bytes for these many years, onto pages and into my hands. Love it, love it, love it!

But, oh. *sigh* How it hurts.

My oldest is only 12. My youngest is still 5. But somehow, when I see images like this, I'm tempted to *sniffle* sob like...well...like a baby!

This is the contended smile of a 5-year-old Fifi whose 2 years of prayer and supplication for a baby sister had just recently been answered with a giant, healthy, "yes." It makes me wonder if Cuddlebug will ever get to have her moment?

Fifi dubbed Dumpling early on as, "A little self." And she delighted in everything Dumpling did, because Dumpling was so very amusing. And a little sneaky. Right from the start.

Making friends with the butterflies. We thought that maybe she walked off the cover of a Little Golden Book this day.

This one gets me. Every time. *choke*

And this one too. It's as fat as my little waif ever got.

Dumpling's best friend. Even if she still thinks Cuddlebug is just a big, living baby doll with which to have her own way.

*Sigh* Ah, yes. Notice the angelic light casting an ethereal glow. And the young girl in a Raggedy Ann apron. She wore that thing everywhere until it was in tatters.

Yes, in fact--Fifi really is that kind and gentle with her baby sisters.

And then they grow up and can talk back with a dissenting opinion. And that's when everyone gets around to lookin' like regular little sinners! Even Fifi. *giggle snort*

But, let me just remember for a moment...

Three in the bed, and the middle one said, "Get out! You're squishin' me."

Fifi was quite the costumer in her younger years. Sadly, it happens only infrequently now because there just isn't the time. It takes more than a few minutes to assemble these ensembles, after all. And it takes even longer to find the girls again under all those layers when they've tired of holding up their hems.

Dumpling, on the other hand, always had a slightly more maniacal edge to her play.

Nobody was seriously hurt in the taking of this photograph.

They're. so. little! *boo hoo*

All this growing up while Mom continues to long for another baby and remembers the two trials in which the sign of promise was revoked, can really steal a person's joy!

It has mine, at times. And really--it's just one thing. I'm living everywhere but in the moment I've been given.

I have wasted so many todays envying the friend who is enjoying a new bundle...wondering if I'll ever enjoy the thrill again...or whether I--at my advanced age--would remain healthy through another pregnancy, or even live long enough to raise the baby.

But then this afternoon, a strange thing happened. It was strange in that it was fleeting yet profound. It involved a stranger, but at the same really only involved the impression of the Holy Spirit inside me.

As I rolled my over sized cart filled with warehouse items through the parking lot to our van, little girls were holding tight the hands of a bigger buddy before breaking free to run to be the first to grab the handle of the old-fashioned sliding door. And as I loaded my goods into the back, I espied a woman walking past, having just accomplished the same chore.

But she was older. Maybe a dozen years older than me. And she was dressed as someone who had just finished a day's work. Maybe she was a receptionist or secretary, starting on the bottom rung again after being out of the workforce for 2 decades to raise her children right. Maybe hers are not just growing up fast anymore--maybe hers are grown and gone.

She looked a little glum, and I wondered for a moment if she took notice of us: me, my lovely daughter and my two loud whirly birds. It was in that moment of conjecture that, for the first time in a long time, I realized that...these are the good years...the ones I will savor a dozen years down the line.

I don't need another baby. I don't need an answer about another baby.

I have so much right where I am. How can I look away?

If I blink, I'll miss them.

These are the years that I watch my Fifi ably knit scarves for a friend's mission trip to Mexico. And when she drops a stitch, I smile as she knits her brow to retrieve it.

And these are years that I get to be proud of little Cuddlebug, who takes ownership of her problem habit, applies the offensive polish and prays to Jesus for victory over her thumb-sucking.

And these are the years that I get to be there when Dumpling's countenance is low, and she can't find the words to tell me why. She snuggles up close, and I perceive the crushing weight of her heavy heart. I ask. She stammers. But finally she squeaks out just enough information for me to fill in the blanks. She has done her best, but is ashamed and disappointed nonetheless. So, I speak words of kindness to her. I try to reassure. And then I hold her hand and walk her through another try; a small measure of success to alleviate the hurt.

These are my favorite years.

Those were my favorite years.

And because abundant life is a gift of the Lord, my favorite years are surely still to come.